What Democracy Asks of Philanthropy Now

There is no defending democracy without deep, relentless solidarity with movements fighting for liberation.

What have we done?

That was my first thought when it was declared that Trump won his first presidential election in 2016. I still remember feeling the hollow ache in my chest, questioning what his rise would mean for our country, our democracy, and the ongoing struggle to make “liberty and justice for all” more than an abandoned pledge.

I wondered what a Trump America would mean for philanthropy and the institutions that work in service of the public good, and how the work of building a more just, equitable society would be threatened. Deep down, I knew that the sectors tasked with safeguarding justice would be tested.

But I also believed in the movements that would rise to meet the moment and in philanthropy’s potential to resource and sustain those movements.

Legally, foundations and nonprofits must remain nonpartisan; they cannot endorse candidates or specific political parties. But defending the democratic process itself, like the right to vote, the right to protest, and the right to live freely and safely, was and remains objectively within philanthropy’s mandate. In many ways, philanthropy did step up at levels we hadn’t seen before to support such initiatives.

Yet even with these efforts, the first four years of Trump’s presidency showed how philanthropy’s risk aversion often slowed momentum. While many foundations funded actions like voter mobilization, legal defense, immigrant and refugee rights, LGBTQIA+ advocacy, Black-led organizing, and efforts to counter disinformation, too many responded only when the issues gained mainstream visibility, delaying support until the need was urgent and the opportunity for early impact had passed.

Years later, Trump has begun a second term. The political climate is growing even more divided, and democracy itself is facing deeper, more coordinated threats.

The question we face now isn’t: Will philanthropy show up? It’s: How will philanthropy evolve to meet the scale of this moment?

Defense of democracy or defense of privilege?

When Trump came into office in 2016 with open hostility toward immigrants, Black communities, LGBTQIA+ people, and anyone daring to challenge his policies, philanthropy had a choice: to act decisively in defense of the people and communities under attack.

In the early years of his presidency, most major foundations leaned on language centered around "civility" and "bipartisanship." Few were willing to directly confront the racism, xenophobia, and authoritarianism taking hold, behavior we are once again witnessing in the current administration. The fear of appearing too political paralyzed much of the sector, even as democracy was actively being dismantled.

It wasn’t until after the 2020 election, and especially after the January 6th insurrection, that prominent philanthropic leaders issued bold "defend democracy" statements. By then, the damage was already well underway.

And now, in Trump’s second term? The stakes are higher, and the urgency is impossible to ignore.

Anti-DEI legislation has rapidly spread across the country, gaining momentum in corporations, school systems, and public institutions alike. The Supreme Court has continued to roll back civil rights protections. Academic freedom, bodily autonomy, and voting access are all under attack.

We are not in a moment of surprise. We are in a moment of consequence.

The silence, delays, and conditional commitments of 2016–2020 laid the groundwork for today’s crisis. Movements that could have been strengthened were underfunded. Organizers on the front lines of fighting disinformation, authoritarianism, and systemic harm were left to fight with limited financial support. Philanthropy responded to symptoms of injustice instead of systems, never fully committing to structural disruption at scale.

And now, those systems are becoming bolder, louder, and more violent.

You Can’t Build Power in Panic Mode

Grantmaking often follows the moment, not the long-term struggle. Instead of proactively sustaining movements doing the slow, essential work of democracy-building, too much of philanthropy’s support is reactive or insufficient, rather than rooted in long-term vision.

While there were a few notable exceptions (like Borealis Philanthropy’s Black-Led Movement Fund and the Democracy Frontlines Fund), many racial justice, immigrant rights, and democracy defense groups were left staggering without the long-term, trust-based support needed to withstand authoritarian threats or build durable strategies for the future.

Examples:

• The Movement for Black Lives (M4BL) launched its platform in 2015 and urgently needed sustained investment to build political power. But many funders didn’t move significant resources toward M4BL until after George Floyd’s murder in 2020, five years into the fight to eradicate state-sanctioned violence.

• Immigrant rights organizations like the National Immigration Law Center, the Immigrant Legal Resource Center, and United We Dream are some of the many organizations that were funded to support advocacy efforts for immigrants between 2016 and 2021. However, only 19.2% of total grantmaking for immigrants and migrants was directed specifically toward immigrants’ rights during those years.

• Data shows that philanthropic support for Black communities peaked at just 1.9% of total giving between 2016 and 2018, still far below what would be proportionate to the Black population in the U.S. This underinvestment is part of a broader pattern where Black-led organizations are chronically underfunded despite being at the forefront of justice movements. By 2022, funding had dropped to 1.3%.

• In June 2018, a viral Facebook fundraiser titled “Reunite an immigrant parent with their child” raised over $20 million for RAICES, a Texas-based nonprofit providing legal services to immigrants. This uptick in individual donations occurred before significant contributions from major philanthropic organizations.

• While headlines in 2020 claimed over $6.5 billion was committed to racial equity, most supposedly going to Black-led nonprofits, the Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity (PRE) found otherwise. Their analysis showed only $1.5 billion in actual awarded grants focused on Black communities, with just a fraction of that reaching grassroots organizers. The gap between what was promised and what was delivered speaks volumes.

Reactive funding spurred by public outrage and media attention is not the same as building collective power. Real democracy defense requires consistent, collaborative, multi-year funding, and not just when the issue is popular in the newscycle.

What can philanthropy do more of this time around?

Yes, philanthropy operates within legal constraints. But that doesn’t mean it’s powerless.

Philanthropy can practice more transformational giving to:

• fund nonpartisan civic engagement like voter registration, election protection, and poll worker support,

• resource movement infrastructure not just for crisis moments, but also for sustained, multi-year organizing and leadership development,

• support independent media and narrative work that combats disinformation, amplifies marginalized voices, and advances media literacy,

• invest in legal defense and advocacy, including challenges to voter suppression, book bans, and anti-protest laws, and

• back cross-movement coalitions because racial justice, climate justice, economic justice, reproductive justice, democratic integrity, and other movements are interconnected.

There is no saving democracy without saving the people most under threat, and there is no defending democracy without deep, relentless solidarity with movements fighting for liberation.

Risk Is the Currency of Change

Of course, philanthropy cannot save democracy alone. Real systems change lies in the hands of all involved in fighting for social justice, including grassroots organizers, voters, policymakers, and cultural changemakers. But philanthropy holds something powerful: wealth, access, influence, and a platform. What it chooses to do with those tools matters. It can better resource the people doing the work. And it must.

So, how will philanthropy evolve to meet the scale of this moment? What is it willing to risk?

Its image? Its access? Its proximity to power?

Because if it won’t risk any of that, then it’s not defending democracy. It’s defending privilege. And history will remember who showed up and who stayed complacent in their privilege.

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